Saving You
by xXxTaintedPurityxXx
Summary: Hermione feels torn as the Weasley's grieve, longing to help them somehow. If only she could go back in time and prevent Fred's death...
1. Hallelujah

**I've recently come in to liking Fred/Hermione, so I wanted to try my hand at it. This is not exactly what I had in mind, but hey, it works. I think I'm going to turn it into a short chapter story, but it will be one I update when I get around to it, as I have other more important stories. If, however, enough people like it, I might bump this up a few spots on my story list. So let me know!**

**Obvious disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. Though I pretend I own Fred. At least in this fic. If this was a dramione, that would say Draco... nor do I own the song Hallelujah, which belongs to many people...**

_Maybe there's a God above  
But all I've ever learned from love  
Was how to shoot at somebody who outdrew you_

_And it's not a cry that you hear at night  
It's not somebody who's seen the light  
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_

~}-{~

Hermione sat in a dark corner of the Great Hall, dried tears still evident on her cheeks, watching as the survivors of the Final Battle grouped together with their friends and family and mourned over the fallen. She felt terrible; the sense of despair burned away any relief or happiness at their victory. So many had died. There were so many bodies lined up side by side on the floor of the hall that had once provided so many cherished memories. How could she feel victorious when there were so many gone?

Hermione turned her eyes to the ceiling. She faintly recalled her very first time ever seeing the enchanted ceiling, the candles floating high above her eleven year old head. She had been awed, mystified that she was special enough to be among such wonder. But now, as she stared mournfully at the ceiling, she only felt a deep stirring sadness. Good chunks of the ceiling were missing, revealing a dark sky that was just beginning to show signs of dawn. The ceiling that was still visible had no fancy enchantments; like the rest of the Wizarding World, it had broken.

She turned her eyes back to the sobbing family in front of her. Her stomach churned; she felt hopelessly sick. The Weasley's had done so much for her since Ron and Harry befriended her, yet right now, she could do nothing for them. Perhaps it was true she had obliviated her parents, meaning she was technically an orphan, but when it came down to honest reality, she hadn't actually lost anybody. Nobody extremely important to her had died. While she dearly loved Remus and Tonks, and Sirius' death still hurt her deeply, and it was obvious nobody would get over the death of Albus Dumbledore, there had been nobody that was special to her and her only that had died.

That was why she sat alone in the corner, watching as her second family cried over the loss of one of their own. Nobody had believed it, not until it happened. At Cedric's death, people were too doubtful about Voldemort's return for it to fully hit home. The death of Harry's godfather definitely brought people back to reality, but Harry, while extremely depressed, admitted that Sirius was probably better off. When Dumbledore died, it was accepted; yes, everyone was devastated, and many doubted that the Light would win, but most accepted it. When Mad-Eye died, it was a terrible loss, but everyone knew with his crazy ways it was bound to happen. Dobby's death hurt terribly; the death of someone so innocent who had helped in so many ways was hard to handle, but as Harry said, Dobby wouldn't have wanted to die any other way.

But as Hermione watched the Weasley's sob onto one another, she felt her heart break in her chest. Now they understood. As Ginny clutched desperately onto Harry's shirt, her tears soaking his shoulder as he tried uselessly to comfort her, his own face a mask of disbelief and guilt, she understood. As Ron, tears falling down his cheeks in steady streams, held Molly while she sobbed and wailed and cried herself hoarse, they understood. As Arthur stood with Charlie, both crying, father with his arm around his son, both trying to be strong for the family, they understood. As Fleur buried her face into Bill's shoulder, her frame visibly shaking, his arms around her, tears mingling with blood as they streamed through the battered half of his face, he understood.

But nobody understood better than the boy who was clutching hopelessly to the shirt of his fallen brother, his head on his brother's chest, begging him to stop fooling around and to wake up. Nobody understood better than the boy who was screaming into the lifeless body that it wasn't funny anymore. Nobody understood better than the boy whose tears had completely drenched the still body of his twin, his voice so hoarse from yelling and begging and screaming that it was now just a whisper as it pleaded for the unmoving body not to leave him alone, to come back, to stay with him. Nobody understood better than the boy who had just lost the other half of himself.

_Yeah, _Hermione thought detachedly as she stood and exited the Great Hall, unable to cry as it was not her place, but no longer able to remain watching the grieving family. _Now they understand._

~}-{~

_It is better to die laughing than to live each moment in fear. -Michael Crichton_


	2. The Reason

**Woo a second chapter already. I'm just unmotivated for my other stories. Anyways. Here ya go!**

_I've found a reason for me  
To change who I used to be  
A reason to start over new  
And the reason is you_

_Hoobastank- The Reason_

~}-{~

The library had always been a sanctuary to Hermione. Years of name-calling and longing for places to hide had shown her that the peace and quiet within the aisles of the wondrous and never-ending library of Hogwarts was truly her home. It was the one true place that she could sit and just _be_. No expectations, no worries, nothing. Just she and her books, and the comfortable knowledge that years and years of wisdom were surrounding her like a barrier against reality and its awfulness.

Even now, as she slowly pushed open the doors to the library, a sense of peace settled over her, and it felt almost foreign, a feeling she hadn't experience in such a long amount of time. She wandered further into the room, her worries and tears momentarily forgotten as she meandered down one of the aisles, her fingers trailing along the bindings of the books, much as she had done when she had been in school. The familiar titles, nearly all of which she had read, comforted at her as she turned and stepped over a fallen bookshelf and some debris. She followed her feet, a nostalgic feeling settling in her stomach, to her favorite table near the back of the library, or what was left of it. Books were strewn everywhere and shelves were toppled, tables and chairs smashed; some of the walls she could see were even missing many of their stones. There was a great hole in the ceiling, not nearly as great as the one in the room she was not eager to return to, but it still brought a draft by her. She allowed a brief bought of panic to pass. What if her table wasn't there?

But there it was, sitting amongst a pile of books and ash and stubble, as if it hadn't even seen the war. A light smile gracing her bruised and bloody face, Hermione sat down in her familiar chair, taking the comfort that it was eager to offer the worn witch.

The library had always been her sanctuary, and now it was going to be her refuge. It would be hours, if not a few days, before all the bodies had been found and all the people accounted for. They knew she was not dead; Harry, at least, would think to look here if he got worried. Until then, she was going to spend her time in solitude, letting those who had actually lost people grieve with their loved ones, if any remained. Besides, she had research to do.

Hermione had read nearly all of the books in the library, but there was one area she dared never touch. An area that had once been nearly forbidden to students. She was no longer a student, however, and even if she were it did not matter. Madame Pince was not here to stop her, and the gate that would have prevented anyone from entering lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Hermione felt a bit cautious that she was going to dare step into such unfamiliar territory at such a time, but she knew that the books surrounding her would not hold any of the answers she was looking for.

No, if she wanted to step through time, she would have to step into the Restricted Section.

Leaving the comfort of her table behind, she wandered warily towards the restricted books, knowing full well the dark magic that many contained. Nevertheless, she knew what she wanted to accomplish, and the knowledge that she might be able to do such provided her with enough strength to make each step forward.

The Restricted Section did not feel as ominous as Hermione thought it might be, although that may have been due to the heavy damage that the library had withstood. Yet she still took careful steps, knowing how powerful some of the books might be. When she hit the first aisle, she began browsing titles. She was not surprised to find many title-less, which she found rather irritating as it did not help her search, yet every time she reached for a book, a pull in her heart made her stop. For some reason, she would know when she found the right one.

It was this certainty that led her through the aisles, following the pull of her heart. She knew, she just had this feeling of pure faith that the book she needed was here. So she kept following that pull, right down to the end of the last aisle. And there it was, gleaming at her from the middle shelf.

It wasn't a particularly brilliant looking book. In fact, it was old and worn, and the binding, like many others, didn't have a title. Hermione stopped momentarily to consider what would happen should she touch it, but tossed that thought aside as she reached for the book, warmth spreading through her palm and up her arm as she nudged the book from its spot on the shelf.

The front of the book was simple. It only held the title, _Magicke: The Laws _in shining silver writing, but no author and no designs. The book itself was black, but nearly grey with age, and it was not all that wide, suggesting a short read. Hermione stared at it for a few moments, before turning and nearly running back to her table, eager to start reading this book.

It was true, she wouldn't deny it. She was, after all, the brightest witch of her age. Hermione was nothing if not logical. She knew that there was a very high chance that the book she held in her hands as she sat back in her chair may not hold the key. It may tell her that what she sought to do was impossible and forbidden. It may not even tell her anything. Yes, she was well aware of the fact that traveling back in time to a past version of herself may not be feasible. But she at least wanted the concrete proof.

She knew, of course, the actual concept of time travel was real and powerful and very nearly forbidden. She had done it in her third year. However, time turners were scarce now, and even then they could only bring you so far. Not only that, but Hermione didn't want to return to the past as an observer; she wanted to return as herself, with her memories intact, to a place in time that had already passed for her. She wanted not just to jump backwards, but to almost rewind her life back to a certain point, where she would exist and not have to hide. Where, with her knowledge of the future, she could change things with everyone else, not just from the background.

She hoped the book she held in her hands would provide that knowledge. She didn't care how. Perhaps she might try to quicken the killing of Voldemort by helping find the Horcruxes, but it was dangerous to hope that she'd be lucky enough to not completely screw up time if she did so. If she could prevent even just one death, the death that so clearly destroyed her surrogate family, then she would be satisfied.

As if the book knew what she had been looking for, or perhaps maybe it did, as it had been in the Restricted Section, the second it touched the table it flipped open, it's pages rapidly turning before her eyes. After a few moments, the pages settled and Hermione cautiously peered at the page the book had presented her with hopeful eyes. It looked quite promising.

_Law of Reversing Time, Order, and Fayte_

_Though many have assumed that once an action is committed, that action remains stained in the fabrics of time, they fail to fully grasp the concept that is time. Time is not permanent. The aspect of time is merely a fable that was created to prevent those foolish enough to mess with such power from doing so. Time is freely flowing, an abstract idea that mortals try to comprehend even though even understanding what time exists as is not possible. It merely flows consistently, neither forward nor backward. Time is always there; though things may end time does not. It will always be. _

_As mortals, we are subject to the constancy and yet ever shifting waves of time. At any moment, there may be two of something because a time-shift has occurred. We exist both in the present, past, and future, even if that has not happened or we cannot remember it. The holder of this book exists wherever it is they are reading it, but they also exist in every place they have ever been, every moment they have ever lived, and every other that is yet to occur for them; for time, it has already happened. Therefore it extends beyond reason that returning to a specific moment when one has existed previously be entirely plausible; you are already there. All that must happen is a shift in consciousness, a shift in time. _

_That said, time is very fragile. Even a very tiny rip in the fabric of time may cause the worst of consequences. Therefore it is not wise to attempt a dealing with the natural Order of time. Simply trying may change everything. The basest act of attempting that which should not be attempted may change time, and the reader would not be aware because the real line of events would never happen. Though, what's to say what the real line of events is? _

_It is also entirely reasonable that, due to time's confusing and changing ways, that because of your existence as the reader at this present moment, preparing to do what should not be done, that time had already planned for this in your past. Your existence means that somewhere, you have already taken this journey. Where simply trying to return to a previous you may alter time, it may be that time had planned for you to take this path, and the natural Order was for you to attempt this, making any events that follow that real event line. Perhaps you, as the reader, are supposed to attempt this. Time would not have permitted you pick up this book if it had not at least wanted you to try._

_Traveling to a previous time is not a simple as it may seem, however. One cannot simply imagine themselves in the body of their previous life. After all, while it is possible to travel through time, it is not possible to go back somewhere you aren't. You _must _be there. Therefore you cannot simply wish yourself into a previous time. _

_Nor can you spell yourself there. No spell is strong enough to break through the force of time and Order and fayte. It is not possible. Every spell is purposed; every curse or hex already thoroughly planned out. Time controls them, and none can override it. _

_In order to truly pass backwards into a previous existence, there must be a true need. Time does not care what this is, for as stated, time has most likely already decided you were to return. A true desire, however, is needed to change time, or else once you arrive where you wish to go you will forget what it is you seek and travel along the same path you already traveled. No, in order for your reversal to work, a true desire is necessary._

_With that, we come to the actual process. Be warned, reader, it is for this reason many do not actually make it back in time. Whether it be cowardice or lack of a desired reason, the act of turning back the hands of your clock are simple but dangerous. And you only get once to try._

_To send yourself back in time, you must perform the killing curse on yourself. Whilst dying, and yes, unlike a normal killing curse, if you've done it right you will begin to fade slowly from existence rather than instantly, you must think of why you wish to return. Think of why, and nothing else. It is also best if you have something that belongs to the time to whence you wish to return. If it is for a person, something that belonged to that person will work. If it is to change that time, you need something that belonged to you during that time. If you hold this while you die, you will more likely than not succeed. While no spells overcome time, when you kill yourself you are no longer in this time, but you still exist, and therefore time must place you somewhere. It stands to reason time will send you back to when it deems fit solely based on whatever reason you are thinking of, and whatever object you hold._

_With that, a word of caution. If performed correctly, you will no longer exist in the time you are now holding this book, for most likely you have changed that time and it no longer exists. Regardless, even it still does, you have been sent to a previous you, and therefore cannot be here. Even though all of your existences are simultaneous, this is the one that is now and happening, and when you return to one that has passed you are no longer in the now. Beware, reader. You cannot come back to this time, for it most likely does not exist. You will have to remain as your past self until your past existence catches up to the date on which you sent the killing curse at yourself._

_There is nothing further to say on the subject of time. I wish you, as the reader and as a fellow time-breaker, much luck. And you fail, then I send my condolences._

Hermione stared at the page in both horror and fascination. She knew it had been possible. She had not known it would be so easy to find, nor so easy to do. She wouldn't hesitate. She had killed in the last few hours; she could perform the killing curse with ease. Could she perform it on herself?

With a feeling of dread, Hermione knew she could. She wanted this bad enough, but she also had witnessed enough death and pain and destruction in the last year than she could have ever imagined. Her grief was so strong; if anything, the curse would kill her without her needing to direct it. It was startling to admit that to herself, but she knew it as the truth. And if she woke up on the other side of time, in her previous body in a previous existence time picked out for her, then she wouldn't even regret it.

Wordlessly, Hermione lifted her wand and aimed it at herself. If she could do this, if she could really go back, maybe she would actually be able to save the one that was so brutally taken from the Weasley's. Maybe, even, she could save others. But him, definitely. He was top priority. She wanted the despaired and stricken faces gone, the happy and welcoming ones back. She didn't want them hurting anymore. She wanted him back. Time had ruined them, and now Hermione was asking that it let her try and fix what it had broken.

With that thought burning in her mind, she reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes item she had been given by the one she was trying to save just before the battle started. She hoped the connection would be enough as she clutched it tightly in her hand and pointed her wand casually at herself and mumbled the curse that would either kill her or save him.

"Avada Kedavra."

Hermione felt the green light pierce her heart, felt time tick to a stop, and immediately began focusing on her goal. She had to do it. She had at least done the spell right. So she had to get back. She had to.

_I want to save Fred. I want to save Fred. I want to save Fred._

She thought it over and over again, the jokester's prank in her fist, feeling herself begin to fade into blackness.

_I want to save Fred. I want to save Fred. I want to save Fred._

As a final wave of darkness spread over her, she hardly even felt as a hand closed around hers, and before she knew it, she had died.

~}-{~

_They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself. –Andy Warhol_

**Hello again. I'd like to thank every who reviewed or favorite or alerted or what not. And I'd also like to specially thank nightlove96 for giving me a great idea. Normally I let these ideas go, but this one sort of stuck with me and I had all these plot ideas come rolling out, so I let it roll into the story.**

**The end might seem a bit rushed, but don't you think Hermione would just accept what a book told her and just do it? I don't know, in that situation, after everything, I think she wouldn't be thinking to clearly to realize what she was doing before she did it. Ah well. **

**Thanks again for reading! I'm surprised by the interest in this quite honestly.**


	3. Before The Worst

**And here's the next chapter. Thanks for the reviews and the patience. My computer broke, but it's all fixed now. Yay! Anyways, here we are!**

_We were sitting with our backs against the world  
Saying things that we thought would never hurt  
Who would have thought it would end up like this  
Where everything we talked about is gone  
And the only chance we have of moving on  
Is trying to take it back before it all went wrong_

_Before the Worst – The Script_

~}-{~

Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath, air filling her lungs and jumpstarting her heart. Blood began pumping through her veins and her frantic organs tried to jolt themselves back into a normal setting. She felt as if someone had dumped an entire cauldron of Pepper-Up potion laced with caffeine over her, and it had wasted no time in taking effect. Every inch of her body felt alive and she was more aware of each breath she took, each beat of her heat, every pulse of her veins, than she had ever been before.

Startled by this sudden feeling Hermione bolted up in her bed, her eyes darting around her room hysterically. It took a few moments for her eyes to register the gentle pinks of the walls around her, but when they finally focused enough for her to process what she was looking at, she only became more puzzled. Gazing around the room anxiously, she took in the various objects that seemed so familiar and yet so foreign.

She was in a twin-sized bed, the pastel patterned white comforter covering the lower half of her body as she leaned back against a headboard. To her left was a light wood desk with a computer and desk lamp situated on it; to her right a huge bookshelf stuffed to maximum capacity. There were various pictures hanging up, and Hermione was mildly shocked to note some of them were _moving_. After careful studying, she realized most of the pictures had her in them. she stared at them in wonder, curious as to what they were doing in this room.

She was snapped out of her reverie when an orange fur ball yowled loudly from her doorway. Turning her eyes to her loyal cat, Hermione's brain finally began working, the gears shifting into place. Blinking, Hermione let out a soft breath of recognition. This was _her_ bedroom. In _her house._ The one she hadn't seen she since obliviated her parents. What was she doing in her bedroom?

Pushing the covers aside, Hermione got out of bed and stepped lightly to the closet, hesitating. What if this was a dream? Should she really just pretend that she hadn't given her parents false memories and that she wasn't currently going about her business in their house like normal? Was that okay?

Sighing, Hermione decided she at least should change from her pajamas, and opened the closet. She was startled to see everything exactly as she had left it, but thought little of it as she pulled on a pair of light jeans, a white blouse, and a pink cardigan. It was only after she brushed her hair back and pinned it with a clip did she realize what she was wearing.

Feeling as if her blood had turned to ice in her veins, she nearly tripped over Crookshanks as she fumbled for her wand, mumbling the spell that revealed the date. Sure enough, in bright, glowing white mist, _3 July 1997_, was floating before her. hastily she pushed her sleeve up, running her fingers over her unmarked arm, her heartbeat pounding in her ears with every revelation.

_No, _she thought. _No! I've already done this! We already won the war! Why am I here? What am I doing?_

The wand fell from her hands as the memories flooded over her. Running to help, Percy fighting, the explosion, Fred's lifeless body, Ron's distressed cry, Harry dead, Neville killing Nagini, Harry alive, Mrs. Weasley killing Bellatrix, Harry killing Voldemort, and _everyone dead. _All the bodies, the destruction, the blood. The Weasley's despaired faces flashed through her mind as she fell to her knees. _George… oh, George. I'm so sorry. _

She had done it, then. She had really done what the book suggested was possible. In a fit of absolute panic and sadness, she had transported herself to a previous existence. She had killed herself in hopes that her pure need to prevent the utter loss on everybody's faces would be enough for time. and it apparently had been, because as she knelt on her rug, the white tufts of fabric tickling her toes, she realized what she had done.

She had gone back to before the war. it had only been a few days since Dumbledore's funeral, not almost a year. Now, instead of wondering where she was supposed to go because she had no parents, she had to go perform the very act that would cause that line of thinking. And once she did, she would leave for the Burrow, where she would prepare for a wedding that she had already attended, a wedding she knew was going to be interrupted and send her and her two best friends on a hunt for horcruxes.

Could she really live through all of this again? All the panic and destruction and fear? Could she handle being on the run, doing all of those dangerous stunts once more?

She wanted to scream and run and wish herself back to the real time, but she couldn't. A little voice nagged at her from the back of her mind that she would not exist there. However, it was that same little voice that told her everything was going to be all right.

_You've lived through it once. That means you know what has to be done, Hermione. You know when things are going to happen and where to go and what to do. You can get the horcruxes earlier; Merlin! You know where all of them are! And maybe… maybe you can prevent things from happening. That's why you're here, isn't it? Time sent you back here so you could prevent certain things from happening, and to speed up others. Perhaps by doing that you'll save more than just Fred. And don't worry, Hermione. You already survived once. You can survive again. You have to._

Hermione closed her eyes, taking deep breaths to calm herself. This is what she wanted. Perhaps not exactly as she had imagined it would work, but time had listened. She had been granted a second chance to change what she felt had not gone the way it should. Instead of panicking and wondering if she was strong enough to handle everything once more, she should have been mucking up the courage to proceed as she had planned. With a final breath, Hermione opened her eyes and stood up, grabbing her wand in the process.

She cast the Protean charm over the familiar beaded bag and stuffed it with the things she had brought last time, adding a different book or two along with some useful potions and remedies she knew they might need later, if everything still went as usual, which she was rather hoping it didn't.

"Come on, Crooks. We're off," She called to the orange cat who had curled up on her windowsill. With an annoyed mewl, he reluctantly followed her down the stairs to where she knew her parents would be sitting, unsuspecting of the fate that was about to befall them. Again.

Lifting her wand at the back of her parents, Hermione felt a tear drop down her cheek. She couldn't believe she had to do this again. Of all times to return to, this was the one time had chosen. Couldn't it have sent her to the moment just after, so she didn't have to deal with this again? Of course not. Tensing, Hermione turned her wand in her hand, feeling the magic course through it.

"Obliviate."

She barely managed to tell them their new lives before she had run from the house, Crookshanks in her arms, sobbing into his matted fur. Without checking to see if she was clear, she turned on the spot and apparated, landing cleanly just outside the wards of the Burrow. She crumpled to her knees in the thick grass, sobbing into her hands. Crookshanks circled her, flicking her with his tail, a low purr working to soothe the troubled teen. Hermione wanted to stop crying; she had already obliviated her parents before and she knew they didn't die, so there was no need to be so upset. It had been inevitable. But she just couldn't stop the tears from falling.

She didn't know how long she knelt out in the grass, bawling and muttering to herself (and her cat), before she decided that she best go inside before either someone found her or Mrs. Weasley sent out a search party. She was honestly surprised that nobody had heard her, for she was crying awfully loud, but then again the wards were stretched far and were very heavy. Wiping her eyes, Hermione stood and dusted her knees off. She gave herself a few more moments to collect her thoughts and make sure she would not start weeping again, before she finally crossed over the wards surrounding the Burrow.

Immediately, Mrs. Weasley was barreling out towards her, arms already stretched open in preparation for a hug. Hermione let herself get enveloped in the warmth of a mother's arms, and Mrs. Weasley held on just a bit longer and just a bit tighter than usual, perhaps sensing the sadness rolling off of Hermione in waves. When she finally let go, she gave Hermione a grand smile which Hermione feebly returned, and ushered her inside to where the others were waiting.

"Come along now, dear. We're just about to start dinner. You can set the plates; best keep your mind off things for awhile."

Hermione quietly followed behind Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen of the Burrow where at least six pots were brewing something or other. Hermione let a smile grace her face at the familiar smell. Going to the correct cabinet, she took out a random number of plates and began setting them at the table, going back for cups and silverware, while Mrs. Weasley finished cooking.

"Wonderful dear. Now go wash up while I finish here. No, don't even think about helping. I've got everything under control," She ordered, and Hermione obliged, heading towards the bathroom where she washed her hands and splashed cold water on her face, frowning at how red her eyes were from crying. After a quick charm that made her look more presentable, she left the bathroom and headed back for the kitchen, where she stopped short.

Apparently Mrs. Weasley had called everyone down while she had been in the bathroom because when Hermione walked in, the Weasley's were all gathered. They all stood upon her entering, giving her huge smiles, which she was grateful for, both given the recent events and because she had witnessed so much and knew so much about their futures. Immediately, her eyes sought out Bill, and Fleur who stood next to him, and she was happy to see just plain excitement for their upcoming nuptials, not fear, on their face. Charlie, though not withstanding any lasting damage in the future, looked much more livelier standing before her now and she cursed herself for not having noticed it before. Hermione was ultimately sad that Percy was not here, as she knew he did change his mind, although perhaps a bit too late, and she would have liked to have him here now rather than later. She supposed later was better than never.

Hermione smiled at the youngest Weasley, who was perhaps going to face the most turmoil in next few months, what with the man she was in love with running off, his whereabouts unknown, dying then not dying, being told not to fight when her entire family was; yet she came out unscathed and every bit as beautiful and strong as she was now. Hermione then gazed at the man she thought she might've loved, had they been given more time, and not been in a life or death situation. He was going to mature in the next few months, but right now, she was still supposed to be a bit sore over their last year at school. He was going to make a few mistakes in the near future, but he did save her life. Though, Hermione figured, if she could change that part of the future, she wouldn't mind.

Arthur and Molly, as always, had warm and welcoming expressions. She knew the times ahead would be troubling and fully of worry and terror for the both of them, but both managed. And if Hermione had anything to say about it, she was going to make sure their entire family was intact by the end.

Which led her eyes to where they were reluctant to go. The Twins. Her eyes ran over George first, noticing almost instantly that he had both ears, and she made it her first mission to keep it that way. She also noticed that he was giving her the most peculiar look, although she hardly thought anything of it, as she was too nervous to turn her eyes to the identical person standing beside him, wearing the same mischievous grin that made her laugh, and scream, so many times in the past. G

Giving in, she let her eyes fall on the twin that had been taken from her, from this family, and that she was hoping to get back. Here he stood before her, alive, breathing, and healthy. She couldn't help but let her smile widen upon seeing his, seeing _him_. it was too unreal.

She was thankful Ginny hugged her first. Hermione had been only seconds away from launching herself at Fred, and never letting go again. Having seen him fall, seen his dead body, and then walk into his house and see him alive and standing next to his twin? How could she not want to hug him for all his was worth? So she was very grateful Ginny had hugged her first, because it gave her a reason to go around the room hugging everyone, even Fleur. And perhaps it was true, she held on to Fred just a bit longer than anybody else; just to prove to herself that he was alive.

Then they all sat down for the dinner that Mrs. Weasley had prepared Ginny on her left and Ron on her right, the twins across from her. As hard as she tried, her eyes almost never strayed from Fred.

So she never even noticed that someone was staring at _her_ the entire meal, waiting for the opportune moment.

~}-{~

_Study the past, if you would divine the future. –Confucius _

**There ya have it. I think I'll like the next chapter better. But until then. Anyways, I started a new story. It's Draco/Hermione, called Hidden Within. Please check it out. Thanx!**


	4. One More Day

**I present the next chapter. I don't know if this will quite live up to your expectations, but I certainly hope expectations or not, you enjoy it. And once again, thank you so much for your sweet reviews.**

_The walls are closing in around  
We hold our silence like a gun  
Your stare is empty and a scene that keeps repeating  
And I just bite my tongue_

_Footsteps will fade away the memories  
Unload the words and breathe again  
Our eyes are focused on unexplored horizons  
At what has always been_

_They can't take this away, it's far from over  
We can't stay in a place we don't belong  
For one more day, I'm not afraid to fall  
For one more day, we try to save it all_

_One More Day – 10 Years_

_~}-{~_

"Granger. Granger! _Hermione!"_

Dimly, Hermione became aware that someone was shaking her as her sleepy mind processed her name being called. It had been her first time sleeping in such a comfortable bed knowing that she was safe in such a long time, and she had been fairly exhausted after recent events, that she had fallen nearly straight asleep after dinner. She was, of course, sharing a room with Ginny, and while it was an old trundle bed she was sleeping on, it was heaps better than camping and wondering if she would be alive the following night.

Processing the thought that someone was in fact calling her name and shaking her awake, the gears in her head began whirring into motion, shifting through who it might be. It was certainly male, which ruled out Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, and Fleur. Percy wasn't here, so he was out. They hadn't gotten Harry yet, so it couldn't be him, and she knew Ron was far too heavy a sleeper (and knew far better than to wake her up) to be up this hour, whatever time that happened to be. Not to mention whoever it was had called her Granger, which ruled out Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie, who, despite not knowing her as well as Ginny, Ron, the Twins, or even Percy, had taken enough of a liking to her to call her Hermione, which she was rather grateful for as it made her feel more at home.

But that only left the Twins (who called her Granger only because they knew it bothered her) and that meant she had a fifty/fifty shot at guessing correctly. As Hermione blinked sleepily up at the face that was hovering over her in the darkness, she tried to make out enough features to distinguish which twin she was being rudely awakened by, but the combined exhaustion and pure darkness made it near impossible. Sighing she gave up, and rubbed her eyes, wearily sitting up on her bed.

"All right, I'm awake. May I ask who has rudely awakened me, as I don't possess the power of seeing the dark quite yet and I don't wish to wake Ginny by lighting the whole room," she whispered, still trying to adjust to the lack of light as she focused on whichever twin was standing beside her.

"It's George. I would apologize for waking you, but what I have to say is more important. Can we talk?" he whispered back, and Hermione felt a jolt of irritation flash through her, quickly quelled by both curiosity and concern. She was deeply interested in what George had to say, but more so concerned at why he had come to _her_ of all people, instead of turning to his counterpart, which would have been the more obvious choice.

"Okay. I'll meet you outside in five minutes," Hermione told him, and she barely made out the nod that he gave her before she heard him exit the room almost silently.

Sighing once more, Hermione remained in the bed for a few moments, contemplating whether she really wanted to do this. She briefly considered whether this was a prank or not, but decided nearly instantly it wasn't; something in George's voice had seemed a bit off. So, sliding reluctantly out of her bed, she pulled on a pair of sweat pants and sneakers and threw on a loose-fitting long sleeve shirt to cover her tank top. It may be summer, but nights at the Burrow got a bit cold outside.

She crept out into the hallway, peaking carefully both ways before daring to step out. She edged ever-so-carefully down the stairs, making sure none of them squeaked, and then darted across the living room and out the back door to where she assumed George would be waiting. She nearly crashed into him when she turned around after closing the door slowly to prevent the slam, and he steadied her, never letting go of her arm as he led her through the darkness away from the house to a different part of the yard where they could talk and light their wands without being heard or seen or breaching the wards.

Sitting down on the soft ground, Hermione mumbled 'lumos', and immediately her eyes sought the minute differences that made the twin sitting before her George. Hermione mumbled _Incendi Mortis _and a gentle blue ball of flame came between the two of them, settling on the ground. George watched it for a moment, awed and baffled slightly, before turning back to Hermione.

"I made that up, you know. I got lonely on the dark nights, and so I made that up so I would always have a little light to keep me company. I combined Incendio with the leg-locker jinx, and there's a bit of the flame-freezing charm in there so it won't burn anyone. I figured if the leg-locking jinx locks something in place, why can't it do that to fire? It took a bit, but I got it after awhile. Burned myself, although I surmise you and Fred have sustained worse injuries testing your inventions," Hermione babbled softly. She knew that she was rambling, but she was rather proud of her invention, and she was also very nervous about what George needed to talk to her about.

"Not exactly a charm I would have thought book-worm Hermione Granger would invent, but it is rather brilliant. It might even come in handy for a few inventions back at the shop. Fred had this idea for…" George had initially grinned, seeming very much himself and highly interested in the little flame nestled in the grass in front of him. But a few moments after he mentioned Fred the grin slid from his face as he realized that in reality, he had just watched his brother die. He turned his eyes to the blue flame in front of him, a deep pain filling his body at the thought that he had just lost his twin. For a few minutes, he dared not speak, afraid of what would happen if he did.

Hermione waited patiently for George to gather himself, wondering what could have possibly caused this sudden change in mood. He had seemed perfectly fine during dinner, and even just two minutes prior he had been acting himself. Now, however, as she looked upon him, he had seemed to deflate and fold in on himself, and there almost seemed to be a dark cloud of sorrow hanging over him. she had no idea what could have caused it; he certainly couldn't feel this terrible about Dumbledore's death, could he? What was it then? He had been so excited about her invention…

_No…_ Hermione thought, her body going rigid. _There's no way._

before she could think further on what she was trying incredibly hard to deny possible, George looked up and caught her eye.

"Hermione, the reason I wanted to talk to you is because…. Fred died. I saw it. You saw it. Merlin, who didn't? He was gone, and two days ago I was kneeling next to his body wondering how I was going to survive without him. I-" George choked, trying not to cry as the memories flooded over him. He swiped a hand across his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm down while Hermione looked on, tears forming in the corners of her eyes, unsure what to do.

"But yesterday I woke up in the bedroom I share with him expecting to see the bed across from me empty have someone in it. He was there! Fred was there, alive, after I, after my entire family, cried over him. If I hadn't been so confused, I might've smothered him in how happy I was."

Hermione smiled at the peaceful expression that had crossed over George's face, although it was quickly replaced by one of confusion and determination, which had Hermione biting her lower lip in worry. A million thoughts were racing around in her head, but before she could begin sorting them out, he continued talking.

"Then we, Fred and I, go downstairs, and I find out that we're expecting you any time that day, and that it's only been a few days since Dumbledore's funeral and that's why everyone is so distressed. It also explained why Bill and Fleur were in the living room acting out scenes I was almost positive I had already witnessed; they were planning their wedding, a wedding I've already attended. I went through the rest of the day doing things I had already done, thoroughly confused. Add on to that I suddenly have both ears again, which I've had to stop myself from checking at least four times. `To top it off, Fred had noticed, and had been giving me the most concerned of glances. But what could I tell him? That I had seen him die not even twenty-four hours earlier?

"Then you arrived and I knew it wasn't just me. I could tell by the way you were looking at everybody, like you were seeing them for the first time, especially Fred, that you knew. Then when you hugged us; you never hug me or Fred, Hermione. I knew that whatever was going on, you would know. So please, tell me why I've suddenly found myself nearly a year in the past?"

Hermione stared at George in both shock and horror, the color draining from her face completely. No. Nononono. Nonono! This wasn't how it was supposed to be! She was supposed to come back alone, do her good deeds, save some people, and be done with it! There wasn't supposed to be another person!

There was a long moment of silence as George watched Hermione and waited for her to answer him and tell him exactly why everything had happened as it had. Hermione only stared at him, completely clueless as to how to proceed. She hadn't planned on there being another person from the actual future, not the one she was changing. It felt comforting to know that someone else would know what really happened, but she felt the comfort wane knowing that the person who knew was the twin brother and partially the reason of why she had come back in the first place. Why oh why did the fates do this to her?

Hermione exhaled softly, turning her eyes towards her hands that she had folded in her lap, trying to muster the courage to explain. He pretty much had everything figured out already; he was really only looking for conformation. But she'd explain as best she could anyway.

"Well, you see… I was just distraught and panicking and wanted to help you all because you all looked so sad, and I hadn't really lost anybody, so I figured that it was the least I could do. So I retreated to the library and found a book, or rather the book found me, as it really took no time at all, since it did sort of pull me to it, though it _was _in the Restricted Section, so that makes sense. But anyways, in my third year I used a time turner, so I knew time travel was possible. I just wanted to see if I could return to a previous me and possibly prevent some events from happening, such as certain… deaths… And suffice it to say, I found my answer. Here I am, returned to my existence of what would now be 4 July 1997, and apparently, so are you. What I don't understand is why you're here too, I mean I killed myself to get here, and unless you read the book and did that too, which you can't have if you have no idea what's going on, then you must have gotten here another way," Hermione explained rather hastily, slightly mumbling, her sentences jumbling together as everything fought to come out at once. She couldn't help but twiddle her thumbs a bit, feeling as if she had been caught in a tremendous lie and was being held in front of the Wizengamot. Her nerves were simply frayed beyond repair and her mind was melting as she felt George's eyes rest on her.

"Bloody hell! You killed yourself? Are you mental!" George practically shouted, jumping up, startling Hermione from her antagonizing breakdown.

"Well, no, that's just… what the book… told…me…to do…"She trailed off, her words fading under George's intense glare.

"And you listened? For someone who is supposed to be the brightest witch, that was certainly a stupid idea. Books can't solve everything. What if the book had told you to chop off only your right hand; would you have done that? What if it told you that in order to save someone you had to kill someone else, would you have done that? Could you live with that guilt? And what about all the things that could go wrong from you messing with the time line? What if you save someone and that kills someone else, someone more important? What if you being here changes the outcome of the war? How would you live with that?" George gave her a patronizing stare from above, daring her to speak out against him. "Blimey, Hermione, you _killed_ yourself. What if it hadn't worked? You'd be dead, and there would be one more body added to the pile and instead of helping us, we'd all be grieving another person. Could you live with _that?"_

Hermione listened to his rant in seething silence, staring determinedly at the ground just behind him. His words struck deep within her, stinging. She knew they were true but she just didn't want to accept it. Suddenly an irrational anger bubbled up in Hermione from whatever reserves she had. How dare he accuse her of a lack of sanity? How dare he yell at her for thinking irrationally! She had come back for him, hadn't she? For his brother and his family? Wasn't killing herself worth it then? He had no right!

Standing up, she curled her hands into fists, glaring back at the angry twin.

"Don't you dare yell at me! I was panicked and scared and lonely and desperate, and did the only thing that I could think of, which is more than I can say for anybody else! Would you rather I left you all there to cry and grieve and look positively pitiful? Because I can let things happen the way they were supposed to. I'll just let everybody die like they already have. No big deal, it already happened. What's it matter anyway; we still win! Would you like that? is that what you want me to do? Would you rather I let it flow normally, so there's no chance that anything will change the time line, and you get to watch Fred die again? Would you like that? Because I'm not okay with that, but if you are, then who am I to say anything? After all, it's not like I came back here to save him or anything!"

Hermione knew it was a low blow, like hitting an enemy while their back is turned, and she regretted it instantly when she saw the anger leave George's eyes to be replaced with fear and torment, the memories of his brother's body probably playing in his head. But she couldn't bring herself to apologize; he had damaged her pride, and that was one of things she clung to dearly. Her tense body relaxed a bit, taking a tiny step forward, as George half sat, half fell to the ground, eyes tightly shut. She wanted to comfort him, tell him she didn't mean it, but deep down, she sort of did, and he knew that.

There was a long, awkward silence while she stood there fidgeting, wondering, not for the first time, how on earth she was supposed to comfort the man that was supposed to be pranking and laughing and smiling twenty-four/seven. And he sat there, knees bent, the heels of palms pressed harshly into his eyes as he remembered, not for the first time, how terribly, awfully, heart wrenchingly agonizing it had been to see his twin dead. Finally, eyes red, he looked up at her.

"You wouldn't do that, would you?" He asked quietly, his voice hoarse as if he were holding back sobs, which Hermione figured he probably was. his eyes were filled with the deepest fear, panic, dread that she would actually let things happen as they already had; that she would let his best friend die again while he could do nothing to stop her.

"Of course I wouldn't. I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure that by the time this war is over, he'll be standing next to you, and both of you will be planning your next prank and already working on your next invention. And as much as I love you both individually, it's not the same. I love you far more as the annoying, obnoxious, ridiculously brilliant prankster twins, and I'm going to give the world back what it lost when it lost half of you," She said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. She crouched down in front of him as she gave him the gentlest of smiles. "So you have nothing to worry about."

He gave her a brilliant smile, the one that she had been searching for, and she grinned back. Standing back up, she offered him her hand. He took it, more for comfort than for assistance, and stood next to her. For a moment he almost hugged her, but he changed his mind, having felt far too many emotions in the short span of a morning. Trailing behind her, they walked back towards the house, just as the sun was starting peek over the lands, washing the earth in a faint blue glow.

_~}-{~_

_He is my most beloved friend and my bitterest rival, my confidant and my betrayer, my sustainer and my dependent, and scariest of all, my equal. – Gregg Levoy_

**Well that certainly didn't go as I expected it to go. I had no plans to write the yelling and the fighting and the sad George and the comforting Hermione speech… but that's how these things go. You don't write the story, the story writes you. **

**Well, anyways. I hope you liked that. I was really concerned about writing from George's voice, and I'm still worried when it comes to writing from Fred and George's in the future. I hope this was okay. I think this is one of my favorite scenes that I've ever written.**

**Reviews, as always, are lovely. But you guys are pretty good at those. I'm so proud! *tear***


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